1854--INVASION OF THE CRIMEA
The Allied Armies re-embarking from Varna, land in the Crimea--The
Alma as seen from the masthead of H.M.S. _Queen_--Selecting
a Naval Brigade--Balaklava Harbour--The Upland--The English
position--First bombardment--Erroneous forecasts of
siege--Able-Seaman Elsworthy--A Midshipman’s daily prayers.
The British troops began to re-embark on the 29th August, weakened by
cholera not only in numbers, many having been sent to the Bosphorus for
change of air, but also by the enfeebled condition of the men, several
falling out as they marched down to the Bay. Sailors do not like many
passengers on fighting ships, but H.M.S. _Bellerophon_ and _Vengeance_
were obliged to receive a battalion from a transport on which the
epidemic had reappeared, carrying off its Captain with others.
On the 4th September the British transports assembled in Baljic Bay,
where the French and Turkish troops embarked. A head wind blew on the
6th, but on the morning of the 7th the Allied fleets sailed for the
point of assembly, off the mouth of the Danube. Each British steamer
towed two sailing transports, the whole moving in columns, the front
and flank covered by men-of-war. There were 37 line-of-battle ships,
100 frigates and smaller men-of-war, 200 steam and sailing transports,
making a total of over 600 vessels.
The British ships anchored first off the mouth of the Danube, but
though the speed rate had been fixed at 4½ knots, too low to be
convenient to our steamers, it was too high for our Allies, whose
soldiers were mostly carried in sailing transports, which dropped
astern on the afternoon of the 11th, when some squalls rippled the
hitherto smooth sea. They were out of sight on the 12th, and reached
the point of concentration, forty miles west of Cape Tarkan, on the
afternoon of the 13th September, though the distance in a straight line
is only 300 miles.
The disembarkation was arranged on the model of that followed by Sir
Ralph Abercromby, when he landed in March 1801, in Aboukir Bay. On the
14th September 1854, the men-of-war’s boats left their ships, fully
armed and provisioned with water and food for three days, and we did
not get back until 11.30 that night. All the boats loaded with human
freight were drawn up in one long line at 8.15 a.m., when the Captain,
superintending from a fast pulling gig in the centre, waved his flag
as a signal for the line to advance. In one hour the seven battalions
composing the Light Division were on shore, and by 3 p.m. we had
landed 14,000 Infantry and two batteries; nor were our Allies less
expeditious, for they claimed to have put 6000 on shore in less than 25
minutes.
Our Bluejackets were very careful of their brothers, and where the
plank was not long enough to ensure their landing with dry feet, in
most cases they were carried ashore in a sailor’s arms. We had had an
object lesson from a painful loss the French suffered; for in Varna
Bay, twenty Zouaves in heavy marching order were stepping on a pontoon,
which capsized, and all of them went to the bottom.
The officers landed in full dress, carrying sword, revolver, with
greatcoat rolled horseshoe fashion over the shoulder, some spirits in
the wooden water-bottle, then called a canteen, three days’ boiled
salt pork, and three days’ biscuit. The Rank and File being weak, many
still suffering with intestinal complaints, it was decided to leave
their knapsacks on board, and they were sent to Scutari. Each soldier
carried fifty rounds of ammunition, three days’ rations, greatcoat and
blanket in which was rolled a pair of boots, socks and forage cap, of
the curious pork-pie shape to which the Army clung until a few years
ago. It was a useless article, but not so inconvenient as the handsome
head-dress which our Generals liked, but which the men discarded at the
first opportunity. In the following winter I saw battalions throwing
away their full head-dress as they left Balaklava.
Some horses were hoisted out of the ships into barges, others were
lowered into the sea, and the supporting sling being detached by a
tripping line, one or more horses were attached to the stern of a boat,
which, being rowed slowly to the shore, was followed by the other
horses. All reached land except three of Lord Raglan’s, which on being
lowered into the water swam out to sea, and were drowned. At sunset
a heavy ground swell broke up the rafts, and obliged us to land all
articles by passing them from man to man standing in the water; but we
continued to work till 11.30 p.m., re-embarking in our boats on the
Bluejackets’ shoulders some sick soldiers.
It rained dismally that night, and the consequent discomfort and
recurrence of cholera induced an order for the tents to be landed, but
as we had invaded the Crimea without transport, the sailors had to
re-ship the tents again four days later. On the 15th, 16th, and 17th
the Bluejackets were at work from daylight till dark, landing Cavalry,
Artillery, and ammunition. Before the 19th, we had taken back to the
ships 1500 men who were unable to march. Many of these were stricken
with cholera and must have suffered acutely, for after they were on
board the engines of the ship carrying them to the Bosphorus broke
down, and we had to tranship the unfortunate men to another vessel.
The Sister Services saw a great deal of each other in those days, and
it was obvious to me then, as it is now, that in similar matters there
is much advantage in such association. No sailor would have thought
of putting away a part of his kit without a tally or mark on the bag,
but there were very few of the soldiers’ knapsacks sent to Scutari
which could be readily distinguished by any outward sign. While we
were landing the troops on the 14th September, H.M.S. _Vesuvius_ and
_Sampson_, standing in to the mouth of the Bulganac stream, shelled
a Russian camp, and obliged the enemy to move it inland. Rain fell
steadily in the evening, and, lasting all night, when day broke, came
down so heavily as to cause great discomfort, and added considerably to
the number of the sick.
On the 19th September the armies moved southwards towards Sevastopol,
distant about twenty-five miles. The British force consisted of 1000
sabres, 26,000 Infantry, and 60 guns. The French had no Cavalry,
28,000 Infantry, and 68 guns, and their Commander, Marshal Arnaud, had
7000 Turks under his orders. The troops, after marching some six miles,
bivouacked on the southern bank of the Bulganac stream; next morning
the troops “Stood to Arms” early, but did not move till nine o’clock.
In a book published ten years ago, I described the battles of Alma,
Balaklava, and Inkerman. The first, on the 20th September, I witnessed
from the crosstrees of H.M.S. _Queen_, anchored off the mouth of the
river. The two Cavalry actions fought in the Tchernaya Valley, on the
25th October 1854, though within two miles of our camp, being below
the plateau on which the Infantry camps were pitched, were out of our
sight. Captain Peel rode over and saw the charges, but all those of
us who were not in the batteries “Stood to Arms” in camp. I refer to
Inkerman farther on, but say no more about the above battles than to
show how their results, affected the Naval Brigade.
The British casualties at the Alma numbered 2000 of all ranks. That
evening I took the Commander and some of the officers on shore in
the cutter, and saw as much as I could of the battleground before my
superiors returned from it. Before the action was over, we had been
ordered by the Admiral to have our surgeons ready for the shore, and
carrying parties of sailors had already relieved the soldiers to some
extent of the duty of transporting the sick on stretchers to the beach.
They had no transport, and therefore could not move their sick or
wounded, and it appeared to us it would have been far better for the
Army to have marched on the 21st, and have left the entire work of
collecting the sick and wounded and burying the dead to the Navy. The
troops did not move forward till the 23rd, when we had buried over 700
bodies in and around the breastwork, where the most determined struggle
occurred.
The general impression in the Fleet was one of admiration for certain
battalions, but the hero of the battle was Lieutenant-General Sir
George Brown, then sixty-six years of age. We were told that he rode in
front of his Division. He distinguished himself forty years earlier,
when leading a section of the “Forlorn Hope” into the great breach at
Badajos. Though the Army smiled at his decided conservative views,
expressed generally in emphatic language, everyone from Colonels to
Buglers admired his courage.
During the night of the 22nd the Russians blocked the entrance to the
harbour of Sevastopol by sinking several of their ships in the fairway.
We lost sight of the armies when they returned inland on the 25th
September, to move round by Mackenzie’s farm to Balaklava, which was
taken over from the Commandant and a few invalids.
On Sunday, the 1st October, I was Signal Midshipman of the watch,
and took over a message, “Line-of-battle ships will send 140 men and
proportion of officers for service with land forces.” While Captain
Michell was discussing the details of the detachment, the Commander
sent me on board the ship of the Acting Commodore to ask in what
uniform the officers were to land. As I stood on the quarterdeck,
bare-headed, the Acting Commodore emerged from his cabin, with a large
prayer-book in hand. The ship’s company were aft for Divine service,
as in respectful tones I delivered my message. He answered my question
in emphatic language, which cannot be repeated, but was to the effect
that he did not care a ---- if the officers painted their bodies black
and went naked. Now, if I had repeated the very words, I should never
have got on shore; for the manners of the two captains were as distinct
as possible, and yet Michell had great admiration for his Superior, as
is evident from one of his letters to his wife I have recently had an
opportunity of perusing. It was written after he had returned from a
Court Martial, which sat to try the Acting Commodore for having run his
ship aground during the bombardment of the forts a month later, and is
warm in his expressions of admiration for the way in which the ship was
handled, and the courage, skill, and determination of the Captain.
I paraphrased the order: “The Commodore’s compliments, and he does not
attach any importance to the question of uniform.” When I delivered
this message, our Captain and the Commander were standing on the poop
ladder, and grouped around were some of the fortunate officers who had
been chosen--the Commander, the Lieutenant Gunnery Instructor, and
another senior Lieutenant, Lieutenant Douglas, and Mr. Sanctuary, a
Mate, who was the only gunroom officer then selected. I trembled with
excitement as I saw the Commander’s eye turn towards me, and then pass
on towards the next Midshipman. In those days we generally worked by
seniority, but the senior Midshipman had recently been in trouble for
having muttered when the Commander vituperated him for some fault, real
or imaginary. The next Midshipman, who knew his work, had too high a
wine bill to satisfy either the Commander or Captain. They had no proof
against him of taking too much alcohol, but their suspicions were not
without foundation; indeed, one or more suits of his clothes passed
to me in the guise of my wine bill, for though he would not accept
money he let me have them for the amount I was allowed to expend on
my monthly wine bill. Now the Captain, in spite of his quiet, gentle,
dignified manners, was one of the most determined fire-eaters I ever
met. He had always been much more severe towards me, his nephew, than
to my messmates, and had a month earlier punished me for what was at
the worst only an error of judgment. I had received two verbal orders
at the same moment; the first man said, “You are to board--and ask----”
while the second man said, “You are to wait on the Captain.” When I did
so, he ordered me “Watch and watch” for not having gone to his cabin
before I obeyed the other order. Nevertheless, he was fond of me, and
in his letters to his sister, while he admits the propriety of a Senior
officer, Captain (afterwards Sir) Stephen Lushington, being sent on
shore, he adds, “As I could not go myself, I was determined that our
family should be represented;” and turning to the Commander he asked,
“Which Midshipman will you take?” “I am thinking, sir.” “Then take
young Wood.” “Oh, but he is too young, sir; it will kill him.” “No, I
think not; but I will answer for that.” And the rugged Commander said,
“Well, youngster, you shall go.”
The selected detachments went on board H.M.S. _Firebrand_ for passage
to Balaklava, which is a curious inlet from the sea. When the armies
moving round from the north side of Sevastopol, having crossed the
Tchernaya Valley, looked down on their objective, they saw below a
little pool of water overshadowed east and west by cliffs, from 500 to
600 feet high. The harbour is indeed small,--about 300 yards wide,--but
there is anchorage for half a mile, with depth of water for even
larger ships than we possessed in 1854, and being landlocked the water
is as smooth as an inland lake.
The historian, Mr. Kinglake, aptly named the treeless elevated plateau
on which England’s Army fought and won, but suffered and starved for
months, “The Upland.” The highest part of the crest is 500 feet above
the Tchernaya Valley, and the plateau extends in a straight line from
north to south eight miles, if we reckon in the elevated ground,
Balaklava, and Sevastopol harbour. It is also nearly eight miles from
west to east, measuring from Kamiesh Bay, to the height overlooking
Tractir Bridge, on the Tchernaya River. For practical purposes we may
say the extent of ground over which the British Army worked for nine
months was in straight lines eight miles by four.
The geological formation is peculiar. The elevated ground, or Upland,
being bounded by a cliff-like formation 800 feet high, which runs
generally, from the head of Sevastopol harbour on the north, six miles
south, and then trends away to the south-west, and passing a mile
north-west of Balaklava, joins the cliffs on the sea-coast. The ground
falls from this cliff-like formation gradually, northwards towards
Sevastopol, north-west to Kamiesh Bay, southwards towards Balaklava,
and south-east to the Tchernaya Valley. From the cliffs it rises again
slightly about 2000 yards nearer to Sevastopol, thus forming a shallow
basin, behind the crest of which the British camps were pitched,
generally out of sight of the enemy’s batteries, although the camp
of the 2nd Division on the north-east corner of the Upland, _i.e._
Inkerman, was partly visible from the harbour, and subject to shell
fire from ships in it.
The surface is cut up by many ravines. Those with which we were most
concerned in our operations commenced close to the east and southern
wall-like boundary, running from south-east to north-west, and they
divided the fighting position of the Allies into several different
parts. Near the camps they were as obstacles insignificant, but the
ravine down which the Woronzow road is carried is, near its mouth, so
steep as to be impassable for armed men; and the Careenage ravine is
for some distance at its northern end precipitous, and in parts the
cliffs overhang a chasm-like gorge.
[Illustration: THE CRIMEA
SOUTH WESTERN PART
_Walker & Boutall sc_
]
We slept on board H.M.S. _Firebrand_, Captain Moorsom’s ship, which
took us to Balaklava on the 1st October, but were on shore at four
o’clock next morning, when we began to rig up sheers to land our
guns. We had got all on shore by sunset, as well as our tents and two
blankets each, pitching our camp just under the hamlet of Kadikoi,
one and a half miles inland, in immediate proximity to vineyards in
which were quantities of ripe grapes. Next morning we were up at three
o’clock, when the Commander made me swallow, very much against my will,
a dose of quinine. Half an hour later the men were given a similar
ration on parade, to make quite sure that no one escaped taking this
preventitive against fever. Mr. Sanctuary, our Mate, then took me off
to wash in a small ditch, in which we stood stripped to the skin. I
was, as I am now, a very chilly individual, and experienced intense
discomfort.
We spent the next six days in dragging guns and ammunition up to the
top of the rise which overlooks Balaklava Plain. On the 14th October,
the so-called Naval Brigade, of 1400 men, was divided, half working
from Balaklava to the height, and the other half dragging the guns
from the height to the left, or west of, the Light Division camp. The
Artillery lent us travelling-carriages for the 68-pounder guns, but
they could not lend us enough for the 32-pounders, and nearly all these
we hauled up the hill, and later down into battery, on the little solid
wooden wheels called “trucks” on which they were worked on board ship.
We had fifty men divided between the drag ropes, and a fifer or fiddler
on the gun, and if neither was available, a Bluejacket with a voice and
ear for music was mounted on the gun to sing the solo of a chorus song,
to the tune of which we hauled the guns. I have never seen men work so
hard continuously for so many days.
We commenced work at 4.30 a.m., and went on till 7.30 p.m., with one
and a half hours off for breakfast and dinner, as our self-imposed
task. Later, the men who were going on duty at night rested from 2 p.m.
till 8 p.m., working from that hour till daylight. When we got over the
wall-like formation I have mentioned, we moved on by detachments, and
pitched our tents immediately on the west of the Woronzow road, to the
east side of which the Light Division was encamped.
I describe fully the ground on which our Siege-works and batteries
stood, for it was there that the sailors spent their lives, as indeed
did the soldiers, the latter dying in some battalions at the rate of 71
in every 100, from starvation, want of clothing, and fatigue. It was
in these siege-works that the strength of the Russians was worn down,
until they withdrew across the harbour--the battles, glorious as they
were, being merely incidents in the struggle.
In the Naval Brigade all casualties were replaced from the Fleet,
which is one of the reasons why our sick list showed such satisfactory
results in comparison with that of the Army. We had many sick, but
as they were continually replaced by Effectives, at the end of nine
months, of the fifty officers who landed on the 2nd October, there
remained only three who had served throughout the winter. The renewal
of our detachments was not the only cause for the Naval Brigade being
so much more healthy than were the soldiers. There were many reasons
for the remarkable difference, but, stated briefly, the Naval system
for messing was good, the cooking arrangements were excellent--the Army
had no arrangements for messing or cooking; the sailors had a fair
amount of work and sufficient clothing--the soldiers were overworked
and in threadbare rags.
The Allies took up their positions to the east, south, and south-west
of Sevastopol, and opened trenches about a mile from the enemy’s works
as they then existed, _i.e._ in the first week of October. These works,
speaking generally, were on ridges opposite to those occupied by the
Allies, and on the higher points stood the Malakoff, 330 feet; Redan,
300 feet; the Flag Staff battery, 280 feet; and the Central Bastion,
247 feet above the sea. Our engineers were limited in their choice
of ground: firstly, from the impossibility of going in to the usual
breaching distance unless we included in our works the Victoria ridge,
which ran down to the Mamelon, for Russian works erected on it, as they
were somewhat later, would have enfiladed our batteries, being able to
fire along them, from end to end; secondly, because the hills on which
we erected our batteries, sloping down from the crest which covered
our camp, with a gentle fall for a mile and a half, at 1800 yards’
distance from the Russian works, fell suddenly and steeply, so that if
we had gone nearer in, to open our trenches, the enemy in our front
would have looked down into them; moreover, from the Inkerman hills
in our right rear, they would have taken our batteries in reverse,
although at a considerable range. The principal though not the deepest
of the ravines mentioned as dividing the Upland, separated the English
and French Attacks.
I describe only the English portion of the Position, five ridges
sloping down from south-east to north-west, all separated by ravines,
the northern part of which had steep sides. Of these ravines the two
inner fissures ran through the Russian works; the Careenage ravine,
cutting off the Inkerman ridge, terminates in the harbour. The ravine
which passed to the westward of the English siege-works joins the
largest fissure at the point of connection between the Allied armies,
and ends at the head of the Dockyard Creek.
On the crest line of the Upland stood on the Woronzow road a
posting-house in which the Light Division placed a picket, and
henceforth it was known as the Picket-house, so long as we stayed in
the Crimea. It was about 600 yards from it that, on the 8th October, we
pitched our camp, out of sight of the enemy. As I mentioned, we stood
close to the Light Division, to the left rear of which the 1st Division
was encamped, and in sequence the 4th and 3rd Divisions were pitched
from one to one and a half miles south-west of the Picket-house, the
Cavalry and Horse Artillery being on the plain, between the wall-like
cliff and Balaklava. Two French Divisions encamped on and guarded
the east and south-east side of the Upland, and two Divisions opened
approaches to the left of the English 3rd Division, between it and the
sea.
From the 9th to the 16th we helped to dig the batteries, drag down guns
and ammunition, amounting to about 500 rounds per gun. On the 16th
October the betting in our camp was long odds that the fortress would
fall within a few hours. Some of the older and more prudent officers
estimated that the Russians might hold out for forty-eight hours, but
this was the extreme opinion. A soldier offered me a watch, Paris
made, which he had taken off a Russian officer killed at the Alma, for
which he asked 20s. My messmates would not allow me to buy it, saying
that gold watches would be cheaper in forty-eight hours.
When Orders came out that evening detailing the Gunnery Lieutenant and
Mr. Sanctuary for the first or daylight Relief of the _Queen’s_ guns,
and Lieutenant Douglas and Mr. Wood for the second Relief, Douglas
swore, and I cried from vexation, thinking that all the fighting would
be over before we had our turn.
THE FIRST BOMBARDMENT
At 2.30 on the 7th October all the officers saw the first detachment
of guns’ crews march off. It interested me to recall this fact when
commanding the Aldershot Division, thirty-five years later, and I had
difficulty to ensure that officers examined the soldiers’ water-bottles
when parading for a long march; for my Diary shows that at 2.30 on the
17th October 1854 the officers felt every wooden canteen which carried
water, some with a dash of rum in it. We opened every man’s haversack
to ensure that he had his salt pork and biscuit, and the Navy owes, to
such personal attention to details, much of its success.
At 6.30 a.m. the bombardment opened, and those in camp fidgeted about
till nine o’clock, when Lieutenant Douglas having appropriated my pony,
cantered up to the Picket-house, whence he could see the Artillery
duel, promising to return soon to enable me to have a look at the
operations. This pony had been a great convenience to us all, and
especially to me; for whenever we stopped work during the first few
days after landing, the Commander sent me away on messages, so that
I got neither rest nor regular meals.[16] I had given 15s. for the
animal. It was stolen from me soon after, but I replaced it early in
November by one I bought out of a drove brought by a speculator from
Asia Minor. For this I gave £18, but it was a cheap purchase, for it
lived until 1883 at my mother’s, and later, my sister’s residence, in
Essex, for the last years of its life.
Lieutenant Douglas had been away half an hour when a Bluejacket
ran into the camp from the battery telling us there had been many
casualties. He brought an order from Captain Peel for every available
man in camp to go down to the battery with powder. I at once loaded up
four Maltese carts, with the Relief of the _Queen’s_ men, and hurried
away down the Woronzow ravine, fearing lest my Senior officer might
return, and taking the powder himself, order me to remain in camp.
When we got to within 500 yards of the 21-gun battery, several shot
and shell from the Redan, about 2000 yards distant, passed over our
heads on the road which is carried down the ravine. We were lower than
the battery, and in a line so as to receive the over-shoot of the
Russian guns; a shell bursting immediately over the cart alongside
which I was walking, carried away one of the wheel spokes. The men
in the shafts and at the drag ropes, dropping their hold, ran for
cover. I am constitutionally nervous, but it did not occur to me to
run, and thus I was enabled to make a good start with the men, by
ordering them peremptorily to return to their duty. I should add that
I saw immediately the danger was over. When we got directly behind the
battery we were practically in safety, being sheltered by the eastern
cliff; for the road there runs deep in the ravine, in some caves on the
eastern side of which we stored the powder, and I went into the battery
by its left or western end.
The smoke was so dense from the continuous fire as to shut out all
objects more than a few yards distant, but I knew the position of the
battery well. For a week I had been constantly in it by night and by
day; indeed, I had guided Commodore Lushington down on his first visit,
thereby gaining a dinner, which was all the more acceptable just then
as we were living entirely on salt beef and salt pork. Having placed
the men under cover, I went towards the right or eastern end, the guns
of which were manned by detachments of the _Diamond_ and the _Queen_,
that part of the battery being called from Captain Peel’s ship, the
“Koh-i-noor.” About the centre of the battery its two faces met in an
obtuse angle, and it was there during the next nine months most of our
casualties occurred. The guns on the right face fired at the Malakoff
1740, and the Redan 1400 yards distant. Later, the guns on the right
face had the Mamelon also as a target at 1400 yards range. Two guns in
the Redan enfiladed the left-hand guns of the right (or eastern) face
of the 21-gun battery, and as I passed them a shell close over my head
made me stoop, till I felt my foot was on something soft, and another
hasty step repeated the sensation. Looking down, I saw I was treading
on the stomachs of two dead men, who had been fighting their guns
stripped to the waist when killed, and whose bodies had been placed
together. I was not only startled but shocked, and the feeling made me
hold my head up when in danger for the next eight months.
When I reported my arrival and handed over the men, I was employed
carrying powder from caves in the Woronzow road up into the battery,
passing in every journey two companies of Infantry, who were lying
behind a large heap of loose stones, acting as a covering party for the
guns. The soldiers were on the southern slope of the hill, on the crest
of which our men in the 21-gun battery were firing northwards. The
stones afforded some cover, but the men would have been safer without
it, for they were lying exactly where the over-shots from the Malakoff
and the Redan crossed. In one of my journeys from the caves to the
battery I was passing close to a sergeant as he was cut into two pieces
by a round-shot which struck him between the shoulders.
I was glad to get to work, commanding three guns’ crews in the battery,
for it was less trying to nerves, besides the additional interest. I
had taken over from my friend Mr. Sanctuary three 32-pounder guns, and
we were discussing the exact elevation for the Malakoff Tower, when he
offered to lay a gun for me. While we were checking the aim by looking
along the sights, a shell burst on the parapet immediately above us,
bringing a great portion of it into our faces. Sanctuary was hit
heavily in the face. I got much less of the stones and gravel, but was
knocked down by my friend’s body. We poured some dirty water over his
face, and he soon revived, bravely declining all aid; but either from
the wound in his eye, which was destroyed, or possibly from concussion,
he could only walk in a circle, and was obliged to accept a man’s
arm. After he had left the battery, Lieutenant A. King,[17] Horse
Artillery, brought three waggons down with powder, and unloaded most of
it near the stones where the covering party of Infantry were lying.
It was a peculiarity of our want of system that there was no Commanding
officer in the trenches, and it was natural for Lieutenant King to
suppose that where the men were lying would be the safest place. He
brought one waggon right up to the battery, and having unhooked his
horses left it. Although it was in full sight of the Russians, being
about three feet above the battery, and was fired on, yet no one was
hurt, as it was unloaded by Captain Peel and Lieutenant Douglas. We
had more difficulty about the loads left near the stones; they were
out of sight of the enemy, but from the fire of two Russian batteries
crossing, shot and shell kept tumbling about the boxes in a manner
which seemed to threaten destruction to anyone who approached the spot.
It was comparatively simple to unload the waggon close to the trenches,
for there two brave officers handed out the cases to men who were only
momentarily in much danger.
Captain Peel sent me down with some men to bring up the two loads
from near the stones. We got up a case or two, when the men, without
actually refusing to carry, declared the work was too dangerous, and
took cover. I reported this to my own Commander and to Captain Peel,
and was ordered to promise any Bluejacket a sum of money who would
come down with me. I made the offer in vain. This I reported to my
Commander,[18] who said, “Well, I will come,” and turning to the
captain of the nearest gun he said, “Come on, Daniel Young; we will
go to the devil together, if at all.” He and the willing, stalwart
man shouldered a box between them and carried it up, thus encouraging
others, and eventually I got nearly all the boxes up, with only one
sailor wounded.
Mr. Daniel, H.M.S. _Diamond_, Aide-de-Camp to Captain Peel, tried with
me to carry one up by slinging the box on a fascine.[19] The boxes,
holding 112 lbs. net of powder, were lined with interior cases of
thick zinc, having over all solid wooden coverings. The weight was too
much for the fascine, as indeed it was for us, and the case sagged
down three times on to my heels, for I was in front, so we agreed that
we preferred to accept the chances, and sit on a box to encourage the
Bluejackets to return, until the last box had been taken away. Some
soldiers helped, one being a man I afterwards knew, Sergeant-Major H.
Burke.
We were fortunate in having few casualties, for the Russians aiming
high there were more shot striking over the spot than in the battery.
While Mr. Daniel and I were sitting on the powder boxes, a mule being
led up with two barrels of powder, one on either side, was struck full
in the chest by a shell, which exploding scattered the body of the
mule, but the powder remained intact. There was another remarkable
escape, as the drivers of a waggon we had just emptied were mounting.
The wheel driver was swinging his right leg over the horse’s back, when
its hind quarters were carried away by a round-shot.
Later in the afternoon, another waggon which had been brought to the
same place was exploded by a shell, one of the horses being thrown
high into the air, on which the Russians, standing up on their
parapets, cheered loudly. We did the same, however, when about two
o’clock magazines in the Malakoff and in the Redan exploded in rapid
succession. The latter battery was wrecked by the explosion: only three
guns being able to fire, and later, there were only two guns in the
Malakoff in action.
Before the first bombardment, Captain Peel asked Lieutenant Ridge and
Midshipman Daniel of H.M.S. _Diamond_, and Lieutenant Douglas and
Midshipman Wood of the _Queen_, to disregard fire in the battery, by
always walking with head up and shoulders back and without undue haste.
He himself was a splendid example. I know he felt acutely every shot
which passed over him, but the only visible effect was to make him
throw up his head and square his shoulders. His nervous system was so
highly strung, however, that eight months later a mere flesh wound
incapacitated him for many months. He was a most tender-hearted man
towards his fellow-creatures and animals; and in 1851, when he was
crossing the Nubian Desert from Korosko to Abu Hamed, he dismounted
from his camel in order to give a small dying bird some water.
We opened fire on the 17th with 126 guns. Everyone was certain that the
Russian batteries would soon be silenced, and so provision was made
for an assault that evening. The troops were kept ready to “fall in,”
storming columns detailed with Engineer officers as guides, sappers
with scaling ladders, and the horses of the Field batteries stood
“Hooked in.” During the forenoon, however, the French gunners were
fairly beaten, two of their magazines blew up, causing great loss of
life, and their guns ceased firing at one o’clock, just as the Allied
fleets came into action at the harbour’s mouth. We were too busy to
notice what the effect of the Russian fire was on our men-of-war, but
we were all deeply mortified when at sundown we saw them haul out of
action.
On the evening of the 17th the British Left Attack ran short of
ammunition, and it moreover had the undivided attention of the Russian
batteries to the westward of it; for the French still farther west had
ceased fire: they had not constructed their magazines with sufficient
strength, and in consequence had several explosions. We were better
supplied in the 21-gun battery, and, owing to Captain Peel’s foresight
and determination, his command was the only one which fired unceasingly
until the 24th October.
For the opening of the bombardment we sent all our servants into
battery, and thus when I got back to camp, just before dark, I had
to go with a bucket to the watering-place at the head of the ravine
near the 3rd Division, and then to stub up roots in the vineyard for
firewood to boil some water. I fried some pork and ship’s biscuits, but
possibly my efforts as a cook were not approved; at all events, our
servant was not allowed to go to battery on the 18th, to my great joy,
but he was the only man of the detachment of H.M.S. _Queen_ who was
kept off duty, and he had to draw rations, cook, and mend clothes of a
Commander, four Lieutenants, one Mate, and a Midshipman.
Able-seaman Elsworthy was of that uncommon class of sailors and
soldiers who never hesitate on occasion to contradict an officer,
but can always remain respectful while doing so. This man had great
independence of character, and we became firm friends. I was fond of
him because of his care, not only of me, but all my friends, and I
respected his determination to always support me, when he thought
I was doing my best for the Mess. He generally accompanied me on my
foraging expeditions, on which I went daily for the next eight months
when not on duty. Once, however, in December, I went down to Kamiesh
Bay alone, and gave 58s. for half a large pig. Perhaps I paid too much
for it, but I had great difficulty in bringing it home on the pony, and
so was mortified when the Commander at dinner found fault with me for
my extravagant purchase. Elsworthy, who was waiting on us, interposed,
and gravely asserted that the Commander knew nothing about pork, and
that not only was the half-pig excellent of its kind, but that it was
very cheap. It is only fair to the Commander to add, that I have now,
in 1905, read one of his letters at the time to the Captain of the
_Queen_ eulogising Elsworthy.
That night, before I slept, it occurred to me that I had been very
nearly out of this world several times during the day, and that since
I had left school I had said very few prayers. A cockpit on board a
man-of-war, which for readers who have no nautical knowledge may be
described as a cellar lined with wood, to the roof of which, in H.M.S.
_Queen_, some twenty-five hammocks were slung, is not a favourable
place for devotions. The furniture consisted of some twenty or thirty
whitewashed sea-chests, and I cannot recall having seen a man or boy
pray there.
I realised in the presence of imminent danger my sins of omission,
but like a boy argued it would be cowardly to begin until after the
bombardment. When it ceased, my good intentions were forgotten until
the next bombardment, with its recurring perils, reminded me. Then the
same chain of thought recurred, and similar resolutions were made with
identical results. This happened again at the third bombardment, and
then I was so ashamed that I have ever since been more mindful of my
religious duties.
[Illustration: THE UPLAND
_Walker & Boutall sc_
]